Afternoon Visits
by PurpleAsteroid
Summary: On an afternoon, someone Hungary hasn't seen in years shows up. And it doesn't end well.


One thirty-five.

Hungary glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of Austria's huge library. It was ticking away quietly, but the sound was enough to fill the room where there was only her, his books, and the piano he so loved to play with.

'_It might as well be his wife_,' she'd thought with just a bit of amusement.

She glanced around. The floor was polished, the books were dusted, the windows cleaned. Not a speck of dust. That was what he expected in his mansion.

Rather, what he used to expect. There wouldn't be any more expecting a perfectly cleaned house after today. She was going to start anew tomorrow. Well, why shouldn't she? They got divorced, anyway it was merely her boss' order; now that she was no longer his wife she could go and do as she pleased.

Her boots clicked against the marble floor as she walked to the white double doors. Her hands only closed around the smooth metal doorknob when it twisted and was yanked open, causing her to stumble forward—and straight into somebody.

"Uh, Mister Austria, I—" she began, slightly panicked and flustered. But she saw the dark blue uniform, the Iron Cross pendant, and immediately pushed herself from the person. "Prussia!"

"The one and only," he said with a smirk. Just like she remembered.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in?" she demanded, green eyes narrowing at the ex-nation. Her grip in the feather duster tightened. The thing would break easily if she'd decide to use it when he'd say he'd done something stupid. Ah, well, she was good in hand-to-hand combat anyway.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the door. "No, 'You're looking awesome as ever' or even a hello?" he asked. His smirk faltered and he grew serious, but only slightly, as he spoke again. "It's been years, Elizaveta."

Hungary flinched at the use of her human name. A pause. "I…well, yes, it has." She averted her glance to the floor, but just for a second. "You haven't been coming around…much."

The last time she'd even talked to him was a year after her and Austria's union. After the marriage he'd visited lots of times, asking her to come hunt with him like they used to. And every time, she'd turned him down unwillingly. Eventually he stopped coming. She saw him other times, but she'd never said a word.

"You'd probably beat me up with your pan if I'd dare take a step on his so-perfect garden." He was attempting to joke, but there was no hiding the hint of bitterness in his voice. He pushed himself gently away from the wall and leaned closer to her by the slightest bit.

"I'm actually surprised you haven't tried to skewer me my head with that yet."

If he, as a kid, centuries ago, had told her that, she'd have retorted with, '_It'd be too thick_'. But right now she held her tongue.

Silence hung in the air for a minute. She shifted uncomfortably, knowing his dark crimson eyes trained on her.

She cleared her throat. "We got divorced. Our union is over."

"And you're still living here, as his maid? Come to think of it, has he ever thought of you as his actual wife back then?" He was serious now, eyes boring into hers. And he'd leaned in closer.

Close.

He was close.

"I don-—Why did you come here, of all times, now?" She took a little step backwards, and he straightened up quickly. "And anyway, I was planning on leaving tomorrow."

"I'll bet."

She scowled. "It's true! Go upstairs, in my room, my bags are packed. Hell, ask Austria! After the whole thing ended I worked up the nerve to ask him if I could go and live by myself now. He said yes. And, well, I will."

He shrugged wordlessly.

It was so strange of him, so out of character. She found herself wishing he'd say something sharp, even stupid. His seriousness, the quietness, the absence of that infamous smirk of his all bothered her.

"He's out, isn't he?" he asked. "Miraculously he got up from that piano. The chair must have his pretty little rump permanently embossed on it by now."

"It's not like the piano was the only thing he ever cared about ," she snapped.

He was being so difficult. Or maybe this was him, only quieter. And she was just reacting differently. Was she? Her union with Austria, probably just her growing up, had most likely brought up a barrier between her and him.

Why couldn't it be like before? They were kids. As far as everyone, even her, knew was she wasn't a girl. She could ride horses at full speed and take down enemies with swords and run free into the woods with him and beat him up form making fun of her and just…just do anything.

With Austria, she had to be a lady. Poised. Quaint. Obedient. Quiet. Everything she wasn't. She didn't hate him; not at all, heck, she might have even had feelings for him back then.

They had drifted away from each other.

Through the window, both caught sight of a car pull up on the driveway.

"He's back," he said bluntly, voice cold. "Might as well get back home for a few drinks with old West." He began to walk down the polished hallway lined with paintings. Utter, complete disappointment and anger, she knew he felt that, even if he wouldn't say it, it wouldn't show in his voice, a flash of those red eyes told her everything.

She wanted to yell. Call for him, tell him to come back, stop acting like that. But she didn't, she couldn't, she didn't know why. Her words stuck in her throat; tears of frustration and sadness misted over but she bit her lip.

As he reached the door that lead to the stairs, he looked over his shoulder one last time. "Also, good luck. With leaving. Living alone, whatever."

And he was gone.


End file.
